// I'd take the fall—I got you covered when there's no one at all //
He fights back the vibrant laugh that tries to rise in response to her ditto. Though it doesn't escape in sound, it surges through him just the same, pouring right back into her through his touch as his grip takes on newfound eagerness and his lips meet hers with more weight. She is everything delightful there is to the world—the sweetness of fruit at its ripest, the smell of potential after a storm, the heat that lingers on skin after enjoying the sea. For each ordinary moment that turns into one worth remembering, there she is in the middle of it, a spark that won't dim. All of it wrapped up in the shape of a woman who somehow keeps choosing him.
The world narrows to the pulse of her against him, the taste of warmth and promise and the faint tang of salt on her skin. Mud clings between them in small splatters and with a richness of smell that overwhelms the usual scents of her lotions and sweat. He pulls away a touch with the reminder, tilting them back upright, glad to give her the space to fully free her chest. No citrus or earth able to mimic the perfect swell of her breasts and he admires them shamelessly.
"I don't know how you expect me to work under these conditions," he complains wryly, certain that once she's topless he can't be held accountable for anything, least of all productivity. His hands slide down her back, splaying against the curve of her hips, fingers curling in on the rim of fabric still there. "Good thing I’m a dedicated employee," he breathes, a roughness slipping back into his voice as he guides her back towards a seat, gaze molten on her now.
He'd undo her pants for her, but with her boots up to her knees, there'd not be much point, not if they mean to make it off this deck anyway. Never afraid to get his hands dirty, he sets into unlacing the shoes and yanking them off as if offended they've kept her contained this whole time.
The world narrows to the pulse of her against him, the taste of warmth and promise and the faint tang of salt on her skin. Mud clings between them in small splatters and with a richness of smell that overwhelms the usual scents of her lotions and sweat. He pulls away a touch with the reminder, tilting them back upright, glad to give her the space to fully free her chest. No citrus or earth able to mimic the perfect swell of her breasts and he admires them shamelessly.
"I don't know how you expect me to work under these conditions," he complains wryly, certain that once she's topless he can't be held accountable for anything, least of all productivity. His hands slide down her back, splaying against the curve of her hips, fingers curling in on the rim of fabric still there. "Good thing I’m a dedicated employee," he breathes, a roughness slipping back into his voice as he guides her back towards a seat, gaze molten on her now.
He'd undo her pants for her, but with her boots up to her knees, there'd not be much point, not if they mean to make it off this deck anyway. Never afraid to get his hands dirty, he sets into unlacing the shoes and yanking them off as if offended they've kept her contained this whole time.
Kaisel
// When you need somebody to turn to—Nobody got you the way I do //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
